


Sixth Sense

by robinlikeitshot



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: (because what else), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Non-Chronological
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-12-24 20:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot/pseuds/robinlikeitshot
Summary: Tim hasn’t seen Jack in a year. He’s not sure how, but maybe when his dad woke up and finally decided to try and take an active role in his son’s life, his mind decided that he didn’t need it anymore.Now, he wished that it had, because the pain of waking up after the funeral and seeing Dad bleeding in the corner of his room at Wayne Manor with a boomerang in his chest was infinitely worse with the knowledge that if he had just been a little bit faster, better, stronger, he’d be smiling as Jack ruffled his hair on the way to the breakfast table, joking about his caffeine intake, and learning what it was like to be a family.Instead, he’s stuck with the phantom touch of a ghost as it kisses his forehead and whispers good morning.





	1. Chapter 1

The night after the fight in the Tower with the Red Hood was probably one of the worst.

His mother had wasted no time in confirming who the man had been, the proof in the meticulously upkept files Bruce had hidden, along with pictures of a ripped up grave. Nothing can be kept from ghosts, though, Tim's learned.

When he’s back in his room, copies of filched theories his pseudo-father had drawn up, trying not to let tears slip out because  _ his hero just tried to kill him,  _ he feels a familiar presence manifest behind him.

A cool hand ghosts over his shoulder as he whispers, “How long have you known?”

Dad sounds sympathetic when he replies. “Since the beginning.”

Tim takes a breath. Questions simmer beneath his skin, ( _ why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?)  _ ones he knows they won’t answer. 

“He’s going to come after you again,” Mother remarks coolly from the seat she’s brought from somewhere. 

“I know.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” His dad asks gently. Tim’s pretty sure that the hand on his neck is supposed to be comforting, but the startling coldness making him flinch ruins the effect.

“Quite frankly, I hope he dies quickly. I cannot  _ wait _ to leave this place.” Mother was, as always, very considerate.

“Janet, he’s still young,” Jack chastised.

“ _ I  _ was young, too. Besides, with this whole vigilante business, it’s almost a definite outcome.”

Tim rolls over, trying to use his pillow to block out the sounds of his parents arguing over what would be an appropriate age for him to die. 

It would have worked if they weren’t, you know,  _ figments of his imagination. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can’t be dead.

He can’t be dead.

He isn’t, he isn’t, Tim just knows, has this feeling in his gut, and-

—He can’t find him. Jack and Janet are still there, though they haven’t spoken to him in the past week, but Bruce  _ isn’t _ . And Tim, Tim has to hold onto that, can’t deal with someone _ else _ dying on him.

He pulls up records and data and traces patterns, trying to look for the Batman, because if he’s not there in the room  _ with him, _ then he has to be somewhere  _ out there. _

_ Knock, knock.  _ His door creaks open, Dick walking in. Tim can see the moment he realizes what he’s been doing, as his tired blue eyes take in the pictures mounted on the wall, connected with dozens of notes covered in scribbled pen. He knows what it looks like, but he’s the only one who knows he’s  _ right. _

_ “ _ Oh,  _ Timmy,” _ Dick breathes out, sighing and leaning against the doorframe. “I thought you said that you were taking time off, not… “ He closes his eyes. “Bruce dying hit all of us pretty hard, Tim. And, I know, you’ve lost a lot of people lately, and I know what you must be feeling, but you’ve got to let this go.”

He backs up against his desk till his thighs bite into the sharp edge, his parents drawing nearer. “Bruce isn’t dead.” 

To his surprise, his mother sits down on his chair, taps her perfect nails on the wood, and says, “No, he’s not.”

He startles and his head whips in her direction, too sleep-deprived to notice that  _ Dick is standing right there. _

“How do you know?” And he’s shaking, because he  _ knew it _ .

“The same way you do. He has not joined us yet, Timothy, and I am doubtlessly correct in assuming that you viewed him as a parental figure, even more so than us, though you can’t seem to admit it to yourself. I wonder why?” She taps her finger against her chin, tilting her head to look at Jack who always got wound up whenever Bruce was mentioned.

“W-what?!!” he spluttered. “I didn’t think of Bruce as my-” Jack cut him off, Tim’s head turning to look at him as he scowled.

“Yes, yes you did. You can lie to yourself, to your team, but you can’t lie to us, Tim. You thought of that man as a father, even while you were looking me in the eye and calling me Dad.” He shook his head and Tim thought he could see something almost akin to regret in his eyes.

“I don’t-”

This time Dick is the one who cuts him off, startling him with a hand on his shoulder, as his head shot up to look at his older brother’s concerned blue eyes, and it dawns on him. He just had a conversation with his dead parents in front of Dick. This was only going to cement his theory that Tim was insane (he’d seen the spreadsheets), and honestly, he was probably right. 

But Tim, Tim wasn’t wrong about this., Bruce was out there and he just had to get proof, had to convince the older man that-

“Tim, you’re not okay. No one in your position would be. I’ve been asking around, and your behaviour is abnormal, even for our crowd. Tim, what I’m trying to say is that you need help. Help that I can’t give you.” 

Tim bit his tongue, holding back the words he wanted to hurl at him, that Damian had needed help and Dick had given it to him, given  _ everything _ to him, so why was he any different?

Tim squeezes his eyes shut as his mother gives a few suggestions and doesn’t realize that Dick had started talking again until- 

“-professional help. Arkham will-”

His eyes grew impossibly wide, the light blue reflecting fear, betrayal, that Dick could even  _ think  _ to- “You’re sending me to Arkham!? Dick, please, you can’t, you have to believe me, I-”

“I wish I could, little brother,” he takes both his wrists lightly in one hand, as if to highlight how small he is, how weak he’s let himself get, “but I can’t. I’m Batman now, and I can’t carry the cowl  _ and _ condone this pointless search of yours. Bruce is  _ gone _ , Tim. You should have accepted it sooner, but you didn’t, and I’m so sorry, but this is for your benefit. I’m just trying to help you, Tim.”

A memory flashed through his mind, of crying at the dinner table when he accidentally cut himself on a sharp knife, his parents picking him up, Jack’s arms like manacles around his wrists, replacing Dick’s light grip, as they apologized to the guests and pulled him upstairs. He remembers the terror in the darkness of the cupboard, the words, “We’re just trying to help you, Timothy,” filtering through the wooden panes, as they went back downstairs.

In seconds, Dick’s on the floor, taken by surprise, which is the only reason that Tim’s able to get the smoke pellet out of his pocket fast enough, filling the room with fog as he nabs his laptop and  _ books it _ , running to the window and jumping. His mind races with contingencies as he hops on his bike, which he had conveniently left on the sidewalk. 

As he speeds to downtown Gotham, Dick probably up and on his tail by now, Tim takes a moment to try and decide where he’s going to go. He’s got enough money in the trust fund his parent’s had set up before they went bankrupt, but he couldn’t stay in Gotham, not with Oracle’s eyes looking for him. That left the question, where to?

He could start his quest, looking for the missing puzzle pieces that point to his father, but he has no resources, no connections now that he’s broken it off with the Bats. 

He hears the sound of a scuffle coming from behind an alley, and makes a sharp turn, getting off the bike, fists connecting with flesh, teeth bared, and he shouldn’t be doing this, not as Timothy Drake-Wayne, but there he is, beating the already unconscious man beneath him.

It’s the woman that’s still clutching her open blouse to her chest that finally brings him out of it, her sobs making his head snap to her. She stumbles back a bit, and he can see the fear and tension written all over her face and instantly feels ashamed, looking down at the bruised and bleeding man. 

His mind supplies him with a vision of Batman beating up someone on a roof ruthlessly as a thirteen-year-old child hid behind a wall with a camera clutched in his shaking hands. 

Tim backs off, putting his hands up and slowly walking back down the alley. When he’s at least twenty feet away from her, he turns and runs, leaving his bugged bike behind. The alley’s dark enough that she probably didn’t recognize him, but, just in case, he throws some knockout gas behind him, the dosage adjusted so that she’d wake up in a couple of minutes with nothing more serious than a hangover. 

Eventually, he reaches his safehouse. His mother was already waiting there, sitting on the counter. Next to her was a note, with a green emerald as a paperweight. She was frowning.

“Timothy, come over here and open this envelope,” she demanded, trying to pick it up again, her hand just going through it. She gave a low growl and Tim, feeling too exhausted to argue, walks over and picks it up, his senses immediately sharpening as he takes it in.

It’s made from thick, expensive paper, and ‘ _ Timothy’ _ is written on the front in obnoxiously gold pen. It’s pretty obvious who it is, and Tim’s stomach tightens as he realizes that Ra’s knew where his safe house was (the one he had even managed to keep the Bats from), and since he’d picked one at random, he’dy known where Tim was going before he even knew himself.

Fighting down a shudder (he probably had the place bugged), Tim opened the letter, pulling out the paper, and reading the contents. 

He can feel his mother looming over his shoulders, and once he’s finished, she immediately snarls, muttering about ‘shady deals,’ ‘could turn a profit,’ and ‘the risk levels . Tim didn’t respond, not wanting Ra’s to have anymore information than probably already had. 

Instead, he pulled out his phone, tearing his eyes away from the missed calls Dick had already began to rack up, and taps in the number that had been written in elegant hand-written script on the paper.

He flops onto the couch, eyes falling shut as the phone rings once, before the receiver picks up. 

“I’m listening.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was wondering uh-“ the boy clears his throat. “Would you go out with me tomorrow?”  
Tim frowned. “I didn’t know you had a solo mission scheduled.”  
“It’s... it’s not a solo mission.”  
“Undercover op?”  
“No, it’s- I’m asking you on a date, Rob.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a randomly fluffy chapter because why not

Robin wakes up at the Titan’s Tower, feeling well-rested after a full two hours of uninterrupted sleep, and, upon finding no ghosts anywhere, feels optimistic about the day ahead. It’s a Saturday, which, yay, and he’s actually feeling _ excited _ to get up. 

After brushing his teeth and showering as fast as he could (then taking about ten minutes to style his hair, of course), Tim walks towards the kitchen, a small smile on his face as he listened to the quiet that only ever occurred at 5:00 a.m.; when everyone was still sleeping, and happened to be Tim’s favorite time to drink his (first) cup of coffee. 

As he took his first step into the kitchen, where the coffee machine resided (Alfred wouldn’t let him keep one in his room, saying that to be able to get caffeine, he’d have to socialize with the team, which, ugh, but it was a small price to pay for liquid life), he immediately noticed that something was wrong. Someone was standing in front of the coffee machine. Tim felt red creeping up on his vision.

Then that someone pushes a mug of black coffee (with a pinch of sugar) in Tim’s direction, stammering about how he’d wanted to catch Tim alone for a couple minutes, though he’s not really listening as he grabs the cup like a lifeline and tips his head back. 

He _ does _ notice when everything becomes quiet again, and that’s also the moment he thinks to check who gave him the coffee (he really hopes it’s not another ninja) and looks up. Tim promptly loses all of his brain cells and comes _ this close _ to spitting out his coffee. Superboy is staring back at him with a mixture of awe and horror on his face. As in the guy who Dick had been teasing him about for the past four months. Who had also just watched Tim inhale a steaming hot, 20 oz. cup of black coffee in under thirty seconds.

“Um, thank you for the coffee, Superboy,” he tried, setting the mug down, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Oh, you’re welcome. And, uh, call me Kon.”

“Well then, you can call me… huh. I’m not actually sure if I’m allowed to tell you my name. So, what did you need?” His drumming pace increases by the slightest, and he can feel Kon’s eyes dart towards them for a second, before locking with his own.

“I was wondering uh-“ the boy clears his throat. “Would you go out with me tomorrow?” 

Tim frowned. “I didn’t know you had a solo mission scheduled.”

“It’s... it’s not a solo mission.”

“Undercover op?”

“No, it’s- I’m asking you on a date, Rob.” 

Tim chokes on his coffee. “I’m sorry?” He tries weakly.

Kon gives him a teasing smile. “I said, would you go out on a date with me, Robin?”

Tim was fairly sure his brain had just short-circuited. Just as he’d opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘_ fuck yes’, _a cool wave washes over him. His father appears behind the boy waiting for Tim’s answer.

“Lex Luther’s son? Hmmm, not too bad, Tim.” He suddenly feels a little sick.

“Are you kidding me? Timothy, I forbid you to engage yourself to this- this- _ farm boy.” _His Mother has apparently decided to make an appearance too. Joy.

Tim opens his mouth again to accept, because fuck you, mom, when she says something that he can’t find it in himself to ignore.

“He probably doesn’t even want to date you. After all, Timothy, _ who would? _ Well you can always just marry for money, so I don’t suppose it’ll be too much of a problem.”

A thousand contingencies begin to run through his head, a hundred reasons why Superboy was standing in front of him, with soft eyes and a pleading smile.

“Why?”

A head cocked to the side. “Why what, Rob?”

“Why would you want to date _ me- _you don’t even know me!”

“Well, I’m hoping to.” Kon just looks so earnest, Tim feels himself getting lost in the pretty deep blue of his eyes, darker than Superman’s but just as true.

The ghosts fade to his periphery as he pulls off the domino, and offers the shocked boy a shy smile. “My name’s Timothy Drake, but uh, everyone just calls me Tim.”

The shocked look wears off to be replaced by a grin. “Tim. Timmy. Timbo. Ti-“

“Stop it,” he huffs, getting up to refill his coffee.

He’s interrupted by a surprisingly careful hug from someone who can lift five hundred pounds without breaking a sweat.

“Never.” He murmurs, and Tim laughs.

“God, you’re worse than Nightwing.”

“Oh? Do I have competition?” Kon says with a shit-eating grin.

He rolls his eyes. “If you don’t get me more coffee, I will leave you for my adopted brother.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

And somehow, in that moment, his parents’ approval is the last thing on his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her smirk is as cruel as he remembers, but he can’t stop himself from flinching at her words. The downside of having hallucinations that know your every thought, doubt, and insecurity was that it was freakishly easy for them to use it against you.

Tim’s down in the cave, typing up his report on the Batcomputer, when he hears the tell-tale click of his mother’s heels. He frowns. Janet had never been down to the cave before; it was always the place he hid in when he wanted to get away from her accusing stare.

His eyes dart towards Dick, who’s been practicing on the mats since Tim came down about half an hour ago. Mother, this time wearing the red dress she’d worn during Tim’s fourth birthday (the last one she’d been in Gotham for) immediately follows his stare and walks over, looking him up and down critically. Eventually, she gracefully sits down on the console, crosses her legs, and tuts at him. 

“Timothy, why must you spend so much of your time in this… _ pit _. The lighting makes your skin look so positively washed out. And you know how much your father loathes this place.” 

Tim refrains from mentioning that that was his main reason for coming down here, in hopes that she’d go away, and also partially because he really doesn’t want his older brother to know that he constantly sees his dead parents out of his periphery, and also sometimes engages in conversation with them, because that is a whole lot of _ nope. _

Of course, since the woman is literally a figment of Tim’s imagination, she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and, since the woman is also Janet Drake, she knows exactly how to twist that to her advantage. “What, Timothy? Afraid that he’ll abandon you again? Just like we did? Just like you’re sure he will? Come on, child, I taught you better than to get attached.” 

Her smirk is as cruel as he remembers, but he can’t stop himself from flinching at her words. The downside of having hallucinations that know your every thought, doubt, and insecurity was that it was freakishly easy for them to use it against you. 

And Dick not noticing was thrown out the window too, as the man was raised by the World’s Greatest Detective, and Tim had just flinched after staring at his half-finished report for two whole minutes. The man got out of the impressive pretzel he’d been holding himself in, and skipped over to the computers. His mother merely scoffed, muttering a slur under her breath that made Tim grip the keyboard hard enough to make his knuckles white, and drifted to the side, watching, _ always watching._

“Little brother, what’s wrong?” Dick doesn’t touch him, doesn’t hug him like he would have before, before Bruce had died, and the new Batman had tried to have him committed to Arkham, like Tim was crazy—, insane for believing that his only parent was still alive, and dredging up way too many preexisting fears for him to be comfortable with that sort of touch from his brother yet. The fact that he’s even _ here _ with him was a miracle in itself.

But it felt kind of nice to know that the other was trying, that he still wanted Tim, and the term _ ‘little brother’ _ never failed to warm his heart. He wanted to lean into his brother, to feel the warmth of his hug surrounding him, to release the tears frozen in his eyes, and just _ talk _, to finally trust him with his vulnerabilities again. 

But his mother’s words (were they even hers if it came from his subconsciousness?) still echoed in his ears, so all he did was give a curt, ‘I’m fine’, and ducked out of the way of Dick’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder. 

Ignoring the hurt look on his brother’s face (because no matter how much he tries, he’ll always have a little bit of Janet in him, the part that snarls and sneers and laughs at the expression, because _ that’s what it feels like, to be rejected, to be told that you’re not good enough, that you’re not welcome _), he pulls on his cowl and gets up, walking towards his bike. 

Dick doesn’t follow, but his mother does, and she strokes his cheek as he climbs onto the bike. “That’s better, Timothy.”

Tim pulls on his helmet and drives.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sharp cold of falling snow still clung to his bones as Tim walks into Wayne Manor, Bruce holding his hand. His mother stands on his other side, a sick parody of her beautiful red smile as her casket was lowered into the ground marring her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shovels more nutella in my mouth: hey  
its been like seven months but I've always wanted to come back to it. never could figure out an ending so dropped it for a while but recently had an idea and slammed it out real quick  
hope u guys like it:)

The sharp cold of falling snow still clung to his bones as Tim walks into Wayne Manor, Bruce holding his hand. His mother stands on his other side, a sick parody of her beautiful red smile as her casket was lowered into the ground marring her face. 

Alfred gave him a sympathetic smile, the cup of hot cocoa he'd pressed into his frozen fingers thawing him even as his mother hisses things about poison and kidnapping. He takes a sip. 

Dick pulls him into a tight hug. The man had cried during the funeral, tears dropping from his long lashes as he looked down at Tim. Tim wasn't sure why. He returns the hug, though, because the only people who ever touched him before were his parents, and those always felt like cold mist going through him. 

He drops his arms when his father chastises him for wrinkling his suit. There's a chair pulled out for him and Tim sits down, hands folded on his laps as Bruce's voice mutes, and all he can hear are his ghosts.

"You should have been better," his father lectures, frowning at him. "You should have saved her, it's what you've been training for, isn't it?"

_Yes._ Tim thinks. _I know_. 

His mother's been uncharacteristically quiet. She stayed with him for the whole of the funeral, silent and watching. Now she spoke.

"It's ok, Timothy." It's not. It's not.

"It's not your fault, sweetheart." His chest heaves as a sob wrenches its way from his throat, the loudest sound he's made all day. Because this isn't his mother. His mother isn't nice, she does not forgive. She doesn't have the crystal droplets that hang from this mirage's long lashes. 

"It'll be alright." And she didn't make empty promises.

Another gasp twists its way out of him, "I'm _sorry_."

Bruce and Dick are looking at him, as he collapses. He cries, hard, as Dick's hand replaces his mother's on his shoulder as he whispers his apologies.

"I'm sorry."

"Tim, it's not your fault," Dick intones, his voice soft and compassionate.

The pretty mockery of his mother's eyes twinkle at him.


End file.
